


Bad Blood (Runs True)

by FairyTrashMother



Series: Bad Blood [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pre-Slash, mentions of child abuse, mentions of child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29983305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyTrashMother/pseuds/FairyTrashMother
Summary: What if cat mutagens are not inherently unstable? What if the mages merely change the source of the cat mutagens from cat species to cat species between generations of Witchers? And what happens when they give Aiden mutagens from a Cheetah?orThe one where Lambert is functionally Aiden's therapy dog.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Guxart/Vesemir (The Witcher)
Series: Bad Blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205477
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81





	Bad Blood (Runs True)

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Grey's fault. 
> 
> This fic is unbetta'd, so if you catch typos/weirdness, let me know. I'll caution you now that there's some canon typical child-unpleasantness. There's also a BRIEF moment where Lambert thinks that Aiden might be sexually abused but that's NOT the case and its quickly remedied.

If someone was keeping score, and Lambert severely doubted there was any power that gave enough of a shit to keep score of his life, but if there  _ was _ one, then Lambert’s life could be marked by hatred. 

First (or as far back as he could remember) there was his father’s hatred. Hatred of him, hatred of his mother, hatred of their lot in life. Then there was his own hatred of his father. Hatred of his absences and the hunger it brought. Hatred of never knowing where the bastard was, or when he’d be back. If he’d be back, or if they’d starve first or die of the cold in their shit little hut. Hatred of his presence and the reek of alcohol and piss and vomit, hatred of his mother’s flinches, and the bruises on her face. Hatred of the sting of his father’s slaps and his own tears. Hatred of his own helplessness. 

And later, there was the hatred of the man who took him and left his mother, damning each of them to their own fate. 

He hated Vesemir, who acted fatherly and offered his patience and guidance and demanded their obedience. He hated the teachers who frowned in disappointment, and the ones who lost their temper and hit him. He hated his classmates, almost all of them. He hated not having a choice. He hated the kids who reveled in the idea of becoming Witchers. He hated the grown witchers who puffed up and showed off and told stories about daring acts and ferocious beasts to the children, and muttered about the abuse they were all doomed to when the children were meant to be in bed. He hated the lies, he hated his fate, He hated the trials, and he hated the mages. He hated the changes to his body. He hated listening to his classmates die one by one, and he hated that it hurt him. He hated that he missed them. All of them. He hated his new strength and his old weaknesses. He hated- 

Well. He hated. It's what he did. 

Until. 

* * *

Until the day that a new Witcher showed up, hiking the Killer with an initiate in tow. 

Lambert hated easily, but he liked to know what he was hating before made up his mind to hate it. This new thing, this he didn’t hate. 

The man looked different than the Witchers Lambert knew, but he was visibly a Witcher nonetheless. He was older, perhaps Vesemir’s age, streaks of gray at his temples giving him a distinguished look, where Vesemir’s gray made him look old (and Geralt’s made him look like a fancy ponce). A silver cat-headed medallion rested on his chest, and he carried himself with a grace that was almost hypnotic to watch. There was an utter confidence to his movements as he approached where Lambert had stopped his run.

Except the new Witcher didn’t stop, just carried on past him.

“Don’t stop on my account, lad, I know the way and I know what Vesemir’ll say if you make bad time.” 

Lambert ground his teeth and considered. He could run ahead and warn the school that they had visitors, but that would mean turning his back on them, which he wasn’t entirely prepared to do with strangers. Or he could follow these two and harass them for a while, perhaps worm a little gossip out of them. Yeah, definitely that. 

Turning, Lambert fell in beside the second man following up the Witcher. “If you know Vesemir you’ll know what a stickler he is for etiquette. How could I possibly abandon guests out here in the wilderness?” he sniped back. 

The old Wticher merely snorted. “I’ll be sure to recommend you get a commendation for your manners. What’s your name, pup?”

_ Commendation, beating, potato-potahto _ . Lambert tried not to let his irritation show. “Lambert. And how shall your majesty be announced at the gate?”

Now the Witcher did turn, appraising Lambert over his shoulder for a second before huffing in what could have been annoyed amusement. “Guxart. The kit’s Aiden.”

Lambert considered Aiden. They were probably around the same age, give or take a year. Aiden would probably be handsome once he was past the awkwardness of adolescence. His hair was clearly a point of pride, falling just below his chin in dark ringlets that looked like they would be soft to the touch. Lambert considered reaching out to pull one to see if it would bounce back, but decided against it. He’d heard Cats were stabbers, and Lambert was pretty sure that would be a stabbable offense. Aiden was also slightly taller than him, and if his lankiness was anything to go by he’d be taller still. 

Height was a perpetual source of frustration for Lambert. He wasn’t short, but at one of his yearly exams one of the mages had offhandedly mentioned that early childhood malnutrition could rob a child of their full height regardless of later care. It wasn’t that he was shorter than most of the wolves, it was that it was one more disadvantage, one more scar from his bastard father. 

Clearly, someone had fed Aiden enough when he was little for him to get tall, and he didn’t lack muscle (not that Lambert was noticing his muscular thighs bunching as he walked), but there was something to him that made him look fragile. The clench of his jaw and the fury in his slitted, green eyes said otherwise. Perhaps delicate would be a better word.

Lambert rifled through a dozen barbed remarks, but decided it wasn’t worth it to rile either of them too badly when he was alone on the mountain and largely unarmed. Not to mention, if Guxart really did know Vesemir and Lambert needled either of them too badly he  _ would  _ be running the walls all night. Instead he went with good, old fashioned, easily disguisable interrogation. “So, what brings you gentlemen to our lovely, scenic mountainside?”

He expected Guxart’s vague, dismissive, “I have business with your School’s leaders.” He did not expect Aiden to  _ flinch _ . It wasn’t big, even a Witcher might have missed it, but not Lambert. Lambert knew what to look for.

So maybe not needling. Now that he knew to look, Lambert could see the edges of his carefully constructed mask he’d placed over his pain and fear. Aiden looked a bit like he was marching to his death, or something near as bad. 

Lambert’s heart kicked hard, and before his brain could catch up his body he’d already moved ahead to place himself between the two. “So that’s a Mariabor accent, right? How’s the weather out there?”

It was stupid. He knew, rationally, that this was stupid. He probably didn’t have any more skill than Aiden, and he certainly didn’t have more skill than Guxart, but for a second he could almost smell the perfume of his mother’s soap and he did what he knew how to do and turned all the attention on himself. Perhaps it wasn’t the most sound tactic for a Witcher, but if there was a monster on this mountain at least Lambert could control where it attacked. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

The next three quarters of an hour were filled with hiking across increasingly difficult terrain through thinning air, but Lambert kept himself firmly in the middle of their marching order and nattered about nothing. He talked about kinds of rocks, birds and birding, and stupid bird names he’d learned that made it sound like all academics hate birds, which makes sense if you know geese, and speaking of geese, how much did they know about bread and the art of making it? Lambert knew a lot about bread because he was often assigned to kitchen work, which was also how he knew a lot about composting, and sometimes a large enough windrow could catch fire if it wasn’t maintained properly. 

By the time the three trudged through the gates and into the courtyard Guxart looked like he probably had a headache, and Lambert stalwartly refused to turn to look at Aiden, lest Guxart remember he was there was well. That didn’t stop any of the boys training in the yard from turning to gawp. 

“ _ Lambert! _ ” Vesemir bellowed. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, boy, you can’t-”

Vesemir stopped short as he caught sight of Guxart, who moved forward with a huge grin. They embraced as Witchers do after long years apart, part embrace and part physical assault. “Forgive me, old friend, I borrowed your pupil. We crossed paths on the trail and he acted as both welcoming party and escort.”

Vesemir blinked slowly. “Lambert did.” It wasn’t a question as much as a statement of disbelief, but Guxart seemed unruffled. 

“Excellent company, he made us feel most welcome.”

“Us?” Vesemir’s eyes landed on Aiden, who was doing a terrible job of hiding that he was hiding behind Lambert. “Ah! Well, welcome to Kaer Morhen lad.”

Aiden stepped up beside Lambert and gave Vesemir a short bow but said nothing. “Well”, Vesemir continued, “I assume this isn’t a social visit, but let’s get you two settled and fed before we get to that, eh?”

Lambert took a moment to glance at Aiden while the others were distracted. Aiden’s stance looked calm, his face impassive, but his eyes had blown wide, flicking around at the students who were pretending to spar while clearly eavesdropping, his hands hovering near the knife on his belt. 

“Right!” Vesemir barked. “Lambert, since you’ve been so kind to our guests already, you may as well go make their rooms ready. We’ve done the chimneys in the East wing, so pick something with a nice view and help them get settled in.”

Lambert nodded. “Yes, Vesemir.”

Lambert led the Cats through the keep, giving them a cursory tour. “Bath’s are down that way, garderobe is that way and left, the library is two flights up that stairway and then right, you can’t miss it, and the main hall is back the way we came, or you can just follow the stampede of Witchers three times a day.” He already knew which rooms he wanted to give them, so he led them down the hallway and stopped in front of a tapestry depicting some long-dead Witcher fighting a griffin. It made for a good landmark, and the views from the rooms on this side of the hall had excellent views of the Blue Mountains. “I think these two should be good, I’ll just have to run and get fresh sheets, but if you want to put your things down-”

Guxart cut in. “Just the one, we’ll share.”

Lambert’s mind skidded like it had hit a patch of ice and every terrible possibility occurred to him at once. “One room?”

Guxart nodded. “As I said, we’ll be fine sharing, the bed’s big enough and there’s no sense putting you out.”

“No.” Lambert realized from the look on the Cat’s faces that it had come out far harder than he’d intended, and he scrambled to recover. “Uh. I mean, we wouldn’t be put out. But if you’d like, Aiden could uh. Stay with me?”

Guxart frowned, and this time there was no amusement to it.

“Only I have a whole room meant for four to myself, and always got extra beds lying around so it’d be a snap to drag one it, and we wouldn’t be worrying about a whole room and he could just. Bunk with the other trainees, in the trainee wing. I mean we’re Kaer Morhen, not some backwater inn, there’s no need to share.”

A muscle in Guxart’s jaw ticked and Lambert was fairly certain he was about to get told off when Aiden spoke. “I’d be alright with that.” His voice wasn’t deep, not the way some of the Wolves or that one Bear that had wintered with them had deep voices, but it was deeper and softer than Lambert had expected. 

Guxart huffed and nodded. “Fine. Just mind yourself and your manners, yes?”

Aiden ducked his head and accepted a clap on the shoulder before wandering off to help Aiden get fresh linens and candles from one of the cupboards and set up Guxart’s room. Or, rather, to watch him do it. Apparently, having lived most of his life in wagons meant that Aiden had no idea how to make up a massive feather mattress on a bed, so after placing the candles in the appropriate holders and trimming the wicks he stood back and watched Lambert struggle with it. 

Which was fine, Lambert wouldn’t make demands of a guest, so he wrestled the mattress himself while Guxart unpacked his clothing and worked to smooth the wrinkles from them. When the bed was dressed they were waved off and Lambert led Aiden down to the South wing where the trainees lived. 

As far as trainee rooms went, Lambert’s was spacious, but it was still fairly modest. Most trainees bunked three or four to a room with whatever part of their cohort survived the trials. But that was the catch. Part of the cohort had to survive. Lambert was, if nothing else, a tenacious little bastard who refused to bend his neck to anything or anyone, and so for the seven days of his grasses his hissed and spit and denied death, and on the seventh day of the grasses he had opened his eyes. His brothers had not. There had been thought to try to move him in with the next cohort up, but in the end they had either decided that his tenacity earned him a room of his own, or realized that trying to lump him in with new people would inevitably end in bloodshed, so they had left him to his room alone. 

Unfortunately, Lambert realized, living alone meant that he never actually had to keep his things tidied away, and as he led Aiden into the room he saw it with new eyes. The unmade bed, the laundry chair, the pile of underwear laying near the bed, the stacks of book and papers sprawled across his desk, the open trunk full of junk and nonsense, the very good stick he’d found in the woods, the stack of small animal pelts he fully intended to turn into a coat probably eventually. 

“Uh, yeah, sorry about- I just uh, hadn’t expected to be sharing, I can fix this up, ya know?.” He kicked the loose braises under the bed and pulled the blanket up. Spotting a very damning stain on the sheets he yanked them off the bed, stooping to snatch the braises as he went. “So just uh, I can make room in the wardrobe for your things if you want, you can leave your bag anywhere while I uh. Get fresh sheets, and then I can see about stealing a bed from one of the empty rooms, but I may need help carrying, is that ok?”

Aiden stood stock still, fingering the strap of his bag, his eyes still huge. “This is all yours?”

Lambert wasn’t entirely sure if Aiden meant the room or the junk sprawled everywhere, but- “Yes.”

Aiden slowly settled his bag by the wall. “Show me the bed thing again?”

They passed the rest of the time until supper tidying the room, stealing a bed from another room, and teaching Aiden how to wrestle sheets onto a mattress and fold the corners down so they wouldn’t come up at night. Aiden was largely quiet, but Lambert supposed that might bode well for his potential as a roommate for however long he was here. He learned quickly too, and once they had made up a part of the room for him he seemed to settle somewhat. 

Lambert leaned back on his own bed, letting Aiden have a moment to himself, and considered what to do next. He didn’t want to pry, because he fucking hated when people assumed they were entitled to any piece of him just because they put on a sympathetic face. But on the other hand, he didn’t want to walk into any snares by accident and then have one or both of them get hurt, especially because he had a sneaking suspicion that Aiden was a stabber. But on the other other hand, he also hated when people tried to tiptoe around him like he was something fragile. So probably the best thing was to ask, but with tact.  _ Fuck _ . Tact was not his strong suit. 

“So”, he drawled, staring at the ceiling. “Guxart. What’s his deal?”

He glanced at Aiden, who was still watching him, and glanced away to stare at the ceiling. Complete nonchalance, Aiden could share what he wanted and nothing more. Just chit chat between two trainees, Yeah, this would work. 

There was a long pause, before Aiden said, “He’s a trainer at our school. Oversees a lot of our training.” There was a very long pause and then, “At the caravan. We live in wagons, all together. Sleep together”.

Lambert kept his voice calm. “Oh yeah?”

There was a deep breath. “I mean we all sleep grouped together in the wagons. Before? I think you got the wrong idea. This much space is- well its new.”

Lambert mulled this over. “Good new? Or is this a polite way of telling me I’m an asshole, I can never tell.” He risked a glance over and caught the ghost of a smirk flit over Aiden’s face.

“Good new.” Aiden tucked his legs under himself and leaned against the wall. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he was planning on leaving me alone there anyway and spending the night in that Vesemir’s bed.”

Lambert sat bolt upright. “ _ Vesemir?” _

Aiden did smile now. “Oh yes. The caravan is full of  _ rumors _ .”

“Rumors about the two of them being  _ together _ ?”

“Rumors about the last time Vesemir visited the caravan and they were afraid they’d have to replace the axle on the wagon they shared.”

It took Lambert a moment to process the wretchedness of that statement, and then he lurched over the side of the bed to mime gagging and vomiting. 

Aiden huffed a laugh. “Oh come on, you act like you’ve never caught instructors with their hands in each other’s pants.”

“Because I haven’t!” Lamber squawked. We’ve got these things called  _ doors _ here, and we close them when we want to do something like that.”

There was another pause as Aiden looked down to inspect his nails. “So what’s his name? The one you do ‘that stuff’ with, I mean.”

Lambert snorted. “There’s no one.” 

“Really?” Aiden was watching him from under the fringe of his curls. 

“Really. It’s not a real rule, but you stick to your cohort mostly, and uh. Well. Cohort of one.”

Aiden’s face did something complicated under the fall of his hair. “Oh.”

“What about you? Got someone waiting back home?”

Aiden’s eyes dipped back to his lap. “No.” It was soft and there was a lot more there, but despite what the rest of Kaer Morhen thought, Lambert knew to leave well enough alone. 

“Well if you need time alone just uh. Let me know. We can work out a signal or something so I don’t just barge in.”

Aiden nodded, still inspecting his nails. “So. Food?”

“Shit! Yeah, food, supper is soon, we can probably go down and get good seats if you wanna leave now.”

“Yeah, I could eat.” Probably an understatement, with the hike up the trail. Lambert led Aiden back through the halls to the dining hall. The dinner bell hadn’t been rung yet, so there wasn’t yet a flood of students, but some of the older trainees were already piling into the hall. 

Aiden hesitated at the entrance to the hall, but quickly followed Lambert to one of the many tables. Taking advantage of their earliness Lambert snagged a corner of one of the massive dining tables towards the back of the hall, and since he was apparently playing host, he let Aiden sit with his back to the wall. 

Supper went smoothly. Guxart entered the hall with Vesemir, and they stopped by to tell Aiden to join Lambert for all his lessons tomorrow while they were in meetings, and then went to sit at the high table with the other instructors and the mages. Aiden was the picture of politeness until they left, and then turned to wiggle his eyebrows meaningfully at Lambert, laughing quietly when Lambert scowled at him. 

Aiden ate with far better manners than the wolves, who tore into the food like- well a pack of wolves, or a school full of teenaged boys. He ate with his hands, but he took little bites and sniffed all the dishes before taking little bits of this and that. The other trainees seated around them tried interrogating Aiden, but when the questions started getting personal (“So  _ is _ your cock barbed now?”) Lambert snarled at them to leave their guest the fuck alone or he’d break their teeth and make sure they were known across the continent as “the whistling witcher”, and everyone more or less settled. 

When the plates had been licked clean (in some cases literally) Lambert was ready for bed. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t so much of an asshole as to make Aiden go to bed with just a wipedown to get the road dust off himself, and he  _ should _ offer him a bath, and probably take one himself. Ugh. 

“Bath?” He asked.

Aiden looked a little surprised, but he nodded. “Yeah, if it's not trouble, a bath would be nice.”

Lambert snorted. “Not trouble, come on.” They returned to their rooms to gather fresh clothing, and then headed to the baths.

One of the best things about Kaer Morhen was the bathing hall. Because they were so high up in the mountains it was easy to capture water from the melted snows further up the mountains and keep it in giant, spelled cisterns that cleaned the water. Some, like the one in the bathing hall, also  _ heated _ the water. Lambert was old enough to remember what life was like outside of Kaer Morhen, and as much as he hated this place, he did have to admit that the baths were a wonderful convenience.

For his part, Aiden was first baffled and then thrilled as Lambert showed him to one of the wooden tubs and how to work the taps set into the wall over it. 

Lambert tried to keep his eyes to himself as they stripped, but as they stepped into the water he couldn’t help but notice that first, Aiden had a very round, very well developed ass, and second, Lambert could probably count every one of his ribs. 

He wasn’t one to pray, but he hoped to hell and back it was just lean times for the caravan and not something worse. Lambert could remember when he was little, when he could count his own ribs, and he quietly promised himself that he’d fatten Aiden up as much as he could while he was here.

They soaked until the water started to go cold, and then Lambert badgered a dozy Aiden into dressing and following him back to their room. It was warm enough that they didn’t need the fire. Lambert usually didn’t bother with sleep clothes, but since he was actually sharing his room again he changed into his sleep clothes and fell into bed. As much as his mind still raced, he fell into a deep sleep full of troubling dreams he couldn’t remember except for a vague feeling of dread. 

* * *

Things went smoothly for the better part of a month. Aiden trained beside Lambert, and it became quickly apparent that their strengths and skills were very different. Aiden was a runner, built for speed, but he tired quickly. Lambert couldn’t keep up, but he could certainly keep going long after Aiden crapped out. Lambert was also a hell of a lot stronger than Aiden. Aiden was faster with a blade and in hand to hand combat, but if Lambert could get a grip on him he could pin him in a heartbeat. 

Academically, they were equally matched, but their strengths were vastly different. Aiden’s history, geography, and sketching skills were spectacular. He chalked the former two up to traveling with an elven school leader and the latter to having long fingers. He wiggled them at Lambert with a laugh when he said this, and Lambert did his best to not think about those hands any more than necessary. Lambert, on the other hand, decided he had a great deal to teach Aiden about alchemy and mathematics. 

Aiden remained almost shy, but he began to open up to Lambert, and Lambert took no small amount of pride in that fact. Sure he was an asshole, and he was also sometimes an asshole to Aiden (just to keep him from thinking he was getting special treatment, of course), but he’d successfully communicated that he was a  _ safe _ asshole. He still sometimes caught Aiden staring at him intensely when he thought Lambert wasn’t looking, and he still sometimes tried to lurk behind Lambert when there were too many people and he wasn’t comfortable, but he’d also tried talking to some of the other trainees between classes and at mealtimes. He’d started stealing food off Lambert’s plate, and drinking from his cup, and for once Lambert didn’t really mind. If it meant covering those ribs in a layer of muscle and fat, Lambert would let the Cat steal his food. He told Lambert about his brothers and sisters ( _ sisters! _ ) at the caravan, and their antics. Lambert wasn’t sure if it was entirely normal to be proud of someone who was still more or less a stranger, but that’s probably what the feeling was. He was proud of Aiden for bouncing back. 

Guxart, for his part, more or less kept his distance, citing “business meetings”, though Aiden insisted that a fair amount of it was probably  _ canoodling _ . Occasionally he’d drag Aiden away for Cat training, which seemed to be a lot of stretching and holding strange and painful looking poses, or balancing on things. Lambert tried not to stare, but on Aiden’s fourth day at Kaer Morhen he offered to teach Lambert some of the poses and Lambert accepted. Because he was curious, not because Aiden kept putting his hands on Lambert and saying things like “look at my hips when I move” or anything like that. Nope. 

They fell into a routine. They woke, went through Aiden’s morning regime of stretches, freshened up for the day, and headed to breakfast. Next would come lessons, then training, then lunch, more lessons, and then supper, a bath, and whatever nonsense they felt like getting up to before bed. Aiden had been teaching him how to cheat at cards (apparently this was an unofficial part of the Cat curriculum), and Lambert had been thinking of breaking open some of the blackberry schnapps he’d been brewing under his bed. Not because Aiden had said he liked blackberries, not that he’d picked them specifically for Aiden.

Everything was going well. Until the bad day. That day, they didn’t make it past breakfast. Looking back, Lambert realized exactly what had gone wrong. Looking back, Lambert would always blame himself for the next bit. He’d sent Aiden ahead to get seats at the table and detoured to for a quick piss. He’d thought that growing up in the caravan would have prepared Aiden for the kind of commonplace nonsense that boys just got up to if left to their own devices. Things like dirty jokes and throwing food and roughhousing.

It wasn’t even that rough. Frank, one of the other wolf trainees, walked up behind Aiden, grinning, his mouth open and clearly about to say something stupid. He extended his hands and clapped Aiden hard on both shoulders, and Lambert was too far away to tell him to fuck off. 

The next moments felt like an eternity. Aiden’s whole frame tensed, his face contorted, and he spun around, driving his table knife straight into Frank’s thigh. Frank looked shocked and then howled, staggering back, but Aiden was already  _ gone _ , racing to one of the walls, kicking off a window ledge and scaling up to the rafters. 

Between one heartbeat and the next the hall exploded into chaos. Students and teachers alike were on their feet. Guxart was  _ also _ scaling a wall and chasing Aiden across the beams above them.Barmin was suddenly there, Vesemir on his heels, and one of the mages forced her way through the crowd to tend to Frank. Rennes looked furious.

_ Shit _ . 

For a moment, it looked like everything was under control. Lambert’s mind raced. It was bad, but it might be under control, and Aiden would probably get away with some punishment, but it wouldn’t be  _ too _ bad.

Because he was by the door and could see the whole room, he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and was one of the few people to watch as Guxart tackled Aiden straight off one of the rafters into open air. Lambert’s heart lurched and he didn’t make a choice to run, but found himself running. 

Guxart twisted in the air and took the brunt of the impact on the table with a sickening thwack. Serving trays flew and dishes shattered, but the table held. Aiden  _ bounced _ off Guxart and tumbled like a ragdoll, coming to rest under the table. Lambert shoved his way through the stunned Witchers and dove under the table. 

“Aiden? Aiden are you ok?” Aiden groaned, and his eyelids fluttered. Lambert was relieved. He wanted to shake the idiot, but knew better than to move someone who’d just fallen like that. Instead, he grabbed Aiden’s shoulders. “Aiden?”

Looking back, he realized that this, too, was absolutely his fault. Aiden’s eyes shot open, his face made ugly with rage and fear, and he sank his teeth into Lambert’s forearm. 

Lambert had a moment of bitter realization. He’d done this to Vesemir, when Vesemir had first gotten him through the Law of Surprise. He had a clear memory of panic in his chest and blood in his mouth, Vesemir shouting and worming a finger into his jaw to try to make him let go. And he remembers the fear, because he hadn’t known what would happen when he let go. He’d been so scared, then. 

“Aiden. Aiden, it's ok.” Slowly, slowly he could see the anger draining from Aiden’s eyes, leaving the fear and confusion. Blessedly, his jaw began to slacken. “It’s ok. What’s a few scars to a bunch of Witchers, eh? It's fine. We’re all fine.” 

Naturally, Vesemir chose that exact moment to grab them both by the ankles and haul them out from underneath the table in one swift move. Aiden’s nails dug into Lambert’s arms and his face twisted as he snarled. He probably would have launched himself at Vesemir next if a mage hadn’t hit him with a spell as their heads popped from under the bench. 

“No! Nonono, Aiden? Hey Aiden?” Lambert patted at Aiden’s face. 

“He’s fine, a stunning spell.” The mage frowned down at them. “He’ll wake up when we’ve moved him to a room.”

“How did you know his  _ neck _ isn’t broken?” Lambert raged. He realized he was still straddling Aiden, hunched protectively over him. “How do you know you haven’t just killed him? Or paralyzed him for life? You don’t move someone who’s  _ fallen _ that’s  _ basic _ .” 

Even to his own ears he sounded slightly hysterical. Vesemir at least had the decency to look sheepish, but it was Guxart, looking haggard and filthy, who responded. “Cat’s bounce, it's part of our mutation, and I took the worst of it. He’s bruised, no doubt, and he probably got his bell rung good, but I doubt he broke anything if I didn’t.”

Lambert was ready to argue about this, because mutations or not they still had their limits, but the mage interceded. “Regardless, he can’t stay  _ here _ and we should get him to bed.”

That Lambert could not argue with. Reluctantly he moved aside and let the mage give Aiden a cursory check before one of the trainers scooped Aiden up like a child and left. Lambert moved to follow, but Rennes held him back. “No, you need to head to your lessons. He’ll be fine. No arguments, pup.”

It took considerable willpower to not tell Rennes to get fucked, but he needed all the goodwill he could manage with his instructors if he was going to talk their way out of this one. “Yes, sir.”

He saw Vesemir’s frown of suspicious confusion from the corner of his eye. It wouldn’t do to let them on to his scheme, so he added, “Can I take lunch with him when he wakes?”

Better to let them think  _ this _ was the favor he was trading obedience for. 

Rennes sighed. “We’ll see what the mages say and how he feels when he wakes. For now, lessons.” He raised his voice and turned his attention to the rest of the hall. “Lessons and training. All of you. This isn’t a day off.”

The rest of the wolves dispersed slowly, whispering furiously among themselves.  _ Damn nosy pack animal instincts _ . Someone was going to say something stupid about this later and Lambert wouldn’t be able to punch them without blowing the goodwill he needed to rapidly accumulate.  _ Shit _ . 

* * *

The plan  _ had _ been to go to lessons and behave well and bide his time, but Rennes, Vesemir, and Guxart all headed towards Rennes’ office, and Lambert realized quickly that he didn’t have the time he needed. Judging by their grim faces they were about to do something  _ stupid _ . 

Lambert headed towards the classrooms where the lessons were held, and then mumbled something about getting his quill and ink and doubled back, taking the long way around to avoid the dining hall where some of the instructors and younger trainees were still cleaning up. 

It was certainly not the first time he’d eavesdropped on instructors in their meetings, so he knew better than to approach the door, where they’d surely be able to hear him. Instead he headed to the room  _ above _ Rennes’ office. Lambert opened the creaky old window as quietly as he could and leaned out as far as he could manage, silently thanking the balance lessons Aiden had been giving him. 

It was a breezy day, which made hearing difficult, thankfully it was also warm, and so after a moment someone opened the doors to Rennes’ balcony. If Lambert strained, he could make out most of the conversation. 

“-Not a risk we can take in good conscience”, Rennes was saying. 

“I’m sorry, I thought it would work.” Guxart responded. “It  _ looked _ like it was working. He was almost himself again. He used to be a good lad, but the trials-”

“Some don’t come out right. It happens, you can’t always predict it and you can’t always change it.” Vesemir sighed. 

Lambert’s heart clenched. He’d heard of people surviving the trials but coming out bad. He’d never seen it, because the wolf mutagens were fairly stable, but he’d heard rumors of men who came out bad, too wild or too cold. Men that couldn’t be let out into the world or kept in the keep around the children. But that wasn’t Aiden. Aiden was damaged, but he wasn’t a  _ danger _ , not really. Lambert knew to his bones that Aiden would never hurt one of the kids, that he wouldn’t be a danger out in the world. He just needed some help, that was all. 

Their voices dropped then, and he only caught some words here and there. Something about “trying again” and “maybe the Vipers”. Lambert eased himself back and leaned his head on the window frame. He knew there were pieces missing but it seemed clear enough. Guxart was trying to find re-home Aiden and they were going to leave. They would leave, and Aiden would be alone and  _ scared _ again. He’d get worse, not better. Lambert had to do something. 

He crossed the small room, usually used for housing returning Witchers and threw open the door, full of determination. 

He almost ran face first into Rennes. “If you think you’re the first young wolf to use this trick, you are sorely mistaken. I thought I’d told you to go to your  _ lessons _ .”

Lambert took a deep breath.  _ Now or never _ . “You did, but you were wrong, and you’re wrong about Aiden. The trials didn’t make him an unmanageable monster, he’s just  _ scared _ . He’s scared out of his mind, and I don’t know why, but I know he doesn’t feel safe. He’d stop stabbing people if they stopped scaring this piss out of him. If you stopped treating him like a bomb he’d stop acting like one.”

Rennes regarded him with a blank face for a long moment. Lambert was fairly certain he was about to get cuffed and given punishment chores, but instead Renned grunted and jerked his head towards the stairs. “Come on, then.”

Lambert followed him down the stairs and into his office. He was  _ really _ hoping that this wasn’t going to end in a beating. Guxart was sitting in the two padded chairs in front of the desk. He had made some effort to clean himself up, but he still looked like he’d fallen from the rafters. Vesemir was knelt at his side, but moved to take the second chair when he caught sight of them. Lambert had the uncomfortable feeling that they’d just interrupted a private moment, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that. 

Rennes sat behind his desk with a sigh. “The pup has an opinion-”

Vesemir huffed. “Of course-”

“ _ And _ ”, Rennes continued, “I think we should hear it out. He feels strongly, and as Guxart said, he’s had the most success reaching Aiden of anyone. So, lad, you have the floor.”

All eyes turned on Lambert and he hated it. Eloquence and tact were  _ not _ his strong suit, and now everything rested on his words. He couldn’t fuck this up, not with Aiden’s life on the line. 

Taking a deep breath, he began. “Aiden’s not broken, he’s just scared. He’s anxious. He doesn’t eat, he sleeps with one eye open, and if someone farts two rooms down, he’s awake. He’s scared. I don’t know what happened, and I’m not going to make him tell me, but if you just give him space and let him know he’s safe, he-. Well he started eating again. He’s always eating off my plate, if I’ve shown him the food is good first. He sleeps because I sleep near the door and he knows nobody will try to come into my room. He’s been making friends, too! He’s been learning to be safe, but Frank’s an asshole, and he hasn’t made an effort to get to know Aiden, not really, and he walked up behind him and  _ grabbed  _ him, and honestly I might have stabbed him too if he’d done it to me.”

He knew that wasn’t necessarily saying much, given his reputation, but he barreled on. “Look at my arm.” He pulled his sleeve back to show the bite Aiden had given him. It hadn’t broken skin, but there the bruise was rising in a perfect map of Aiden’s teeth. He looked to Vesemir. “I know I gave you one of those when you took me from my Ma. I know you said you ‘hate the biters’ and other kids had bitten you before. But when a kid is scared, they panic. A trained Witcher doesn’t  _ run _ after a fight, and they don’t bite. Scared people do. Panicked people do. He was out of his mind, he’d been attacked and then chased and then  _ tackled off a rafter _ , and I had almost calmed him down when you dragged him out and  _ spelled _ him and took him away. I know that you had to do something, but it shouldn’t have been  _ that. _

“If you take him away, if you take him somewhere new and strange where he doesn’t know  _ anyone _ , he won’t get better, he’ll get worse. You’ll lose him, and it’ll be your own fault. He’s doing well here, he should have the  _ choice _ to stay here or go home, but taking him somewhere new, somewhere even less friendly than Kaer Morhen won’t be doing him any favors.” He felt drained as he finished. The three Witchers before him exchanged looks that meant something he wasn’t able to parse. 

“When you’re scared all the time it’s too much. It’s easier sometimes to just be angry instead. That doesn’t mean you’re not still scared.” And yes, maybe it hit a little too close to home, and maybe he could see in Vesemir’s face that he knew it, but Lambert in for a copper, in for a crown. 

Rennes nodded, his eyes distant and thoughtful. “Alright. We’ll consider this. Go see Aiden then. You’re excused for lessons  _ for now _ .”

“Yes, sir.” Lambert was almost to the door before he called over his shoulder. “Thank you, sir!”

* * *

Aiden was awake but groggy when Lambert found him in the infirmary. He was also tied to the bed, but since the mages weren’t in the room Lambert took it upon himself to undo the ties While Aiden looked on mournfully. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never meant-”

Lambert waved his concerns away and plopped himself on the bed next to Aiden. “Nah, Frank’s an asshole, maybe this will teach him to stop sneaking up on people, and Guxart’s fine, he just has porridge in his hair but that washes out. How’s your head?”

Aiden frowned. “Hurts.” 

“Yeah I’ll bet. Guxart said you Cats bounce but  _ damn _ did you bounce.” Aiden huffed at him. 

Lambert wasn’t sure if he should fill the silence for Aiden or not, and he was just about to launch into a story he’d heart from an older Witcher last winter about man who mistook some river cow for a mermaid and drowned trying to court it when Aiden suddenly took his hand squeezed. 

“How much do you know about Cat mutations?” He asked softly, staring down at his lap.

“Other than the bouncing? I know your cock’s not weird like the rumors say.” His brain caught up with his mouth a moment too late and he felt his cheeks flush.

Fortunately, Aiden just huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, there’s that. But there’s also rumors about us being unstable and violent. And uh-”

“I know you’re not that Aiden, I get it. I know you’re not a danger-”

Aiden squeezed his hand again. “That’s not- I mean I know, but also.” He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “Just listen, yeah?”

When Lambert kept his mouth shut, Aiden continued. “There’s only so many kinds of wolves, so your mages have your mutations pretty much locked down. Griffins too, and Vipers, believe it or not. Manticores, I’ve heard. You know what to expect. But us, the unstable schools, Cats and Bears to some extent, we’ve got a lot of variation for the mages to play with, so you can get. A lot of different results, and it's not always clear what you’ll get out of them. Some of the elders, they get their mutagens from lions and tigers and leopards, big cats. Guxart’s cohort were lion mutagens. They work well in groups, that’s why he’s a trainer. He and his sisters are great hunters, and they’re good with kids. Dragonfly’s a leopard and they don’t like big crowds, so they tend to stay away from the caravan for long periods, but they can keep it together when they come to visit.”

He took a deep breath. “My mutations were new. One of the mages got their hands on blood from some large cat out in Zerakania. It’s fast and deadly and strong, and my siblings and I were already mostly pretty tall, so they thought that it might work well on us. But uh. It didn’t. Four of us made it through, but it’s. Lambert it’s so hard. Things that are completely normal are suddenly just- too much, it's too much. And it helps when you do that thing you do, when you- you acknowledge I’m struggling but don’t acknowledge it, ya know? Like when you talk too much so I don’t have to, or how you always let me sit so my back’s to the wall? It’s like I didn’t even know I needed that until you started doing it.

“Maria stopped eating. She couldn’t hold food down and nobody knew why. And Thomaz, he. His heart kept racing after it should have settled, it kept going and he just- He didn’t. Keep going. And now it’s just me, and I feel like I’m losing my  _ mind _ .”

Lambert squeezed his hand tight. Yeah, he knew that feeling.

“Nah, now it's just  _ us _ . And we’ve both lost our marbles, so what’s the worry?”

Aiden’s face scrunched and Lambert could smell the salt of tears. “I stabbed one of your brothers. I hurt  _ Guxart _ , and he- he’s an ass, but he’s the closest I have to a father, Lamb. He-”

“No,  _ you _ didn’t hurt Guxart, Guxart was a moron and he launched himself off a rafter over a table. I don’t know much about lions, but I guess they’re not great climbers, huh?”

There was a snort from the doorway to the infirmary. “No, no they aren’t. And neither are hunting leopards.” Guxart folded his arms. It looked like he’d had some time to comb out his hair and get the porridge out, and he’d changed his shirt, but he still smelled a bit like bacon. And Vesemir.  _ Eew _ . 

Guxart settled at the foot of the bed and squeezed Aiden’s ankle. “How’s your head, kit?”

Aiden nodded. “Tender.” He seemed to struggle for a moment and then continued, quietly. “Thank you. For stopping me. And I’m sorry.”

Guxart sighed. “Well, as Lambert pointed out to us, it wasn’t the best plan on my part, and I owe you an apology too. Seems I’ve missed a great deal. We all did, at the caravan.” He looked at Lambert and nodded. “We need a talk, and I’d like to do it in private. Nothing bad though. Just some school talk.”

Lambert squeezed Aiden’s hand. “You ok for this?”

Aiden gave him a thin smile. “Yeah. Maybe steal me something from the kitchen? We missed breakfast.”

“Yeah, of course.” Lambert stood and headed for the door. He couldn’t help himself. “I’ll try to get you bacon that hasn’t been on anyone’s ass.”

* * *

It was decided that as much as it annoyed and shamed everyone, Lambert was right. Aiden had been flourishing with the Wolves. With Lambert. And, Vesemir had conceded, Lambert’s behavior when Aiden was around was significantly better than when he’d been left on his own. It was agreed between them that Aiden would stay in Kaer Morhen and continue to bunk with Lambert, and that the Cats would send an instructor every summer to make sure Aiden was still learning how to be a Cat properly and not picking up too many bad habits from the Wolves. 

There was some uncertainty about what to do when they were finally turned loose on the Path, but given that neither Lambert nor Aiden were strictly traditional young Witchers, the general consensus was that perhaps a non-traditional approach was best. Regardless, they had time to sort it out. Apologies were made to Frank (who would later tell the working girls on the path that it was his first Witcher scar from a deadly duel with a mad Cat Witcher), and life more or less moved on. 

Guxart and Vesemir took the pair on an extended hunting trip in the rain to test the limits of their patience with each other (and they knew it was a test) and overall found their behaviour satisfactory. Possibly even better than when they were confined to the Keep, odd as that was. The only real hiccup on the whole trip was when Lambert returned to camp early from checking snares and found Guxart and Vesemir tangled together on a bedroll in a manner that was  _ clearly not grappling _ . He turned tail and bolted to find Aiden and beg him to beat Lambert with a rock until he could un-see that. Aiden, the bastard, just laughed at him.

By late summer the instructors were fairly confident that they could manage Aiden without Guxart, and so he prepared to return home to the caravan. Aiden would miss him. Lambert might too. As it turned out he was actually a decent fellow, when Lambert wasn’t distracted with expecting the worst. Vesemir would also miss him, Lambert realized, and at Aiden’s urging Lambert vowed a solid month-long moratorium on back-talk. To Vesemir. He’d only had Aiden in his life for a short time, and they weren’t as ah- _ close _ as Vesmir and Guxart were, but Lambert wasn’t sure what he’d do if Aiden were leaving him. It didn’t mean he  _ liked _ the old bastard, but he did think he might be starting to understand.

At least Guxart would be back, and he’d promised to send his sisters, who Aiden adored and apparently Vesemir feared, so that was something to look forward to. 

It wouldn’t be perfect. Nothing was. But for the first time, Lambert didn’t hate this. He didn’t hate Aiden and his snoring, or his fussy grooming regimen that somehow ended up extending to Lambert’s body too. He didn’t hate the stretches, or when Aiden taught him to climb walls by wedging his fingertips into gaps between stones. He didn’t hate when Aiden crawled into his bed in the dead of winter because the wind was howling too loud. He didn’t hate waking up with Aiden’s hair in his mouth, or listening to him breathe, his slow heart beating peaceful in the knowledge that he was completely safe. 

It wasn’t perfect, no. But that was better. 

That meant this was real. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm nowhere near done with this idea, I'm actually in love with the idea of Guxart's terrifying lioness sisters. Also, cheetahs are not great cats, they're lesser cats (I mean they're fantastic, I'm talking cladistics). There's more to come, it may just take a while. 
> 
> That said, I've really fallen down a big-cat/lesser cat conservation and behaviorism rabbit hole. I've got like. A LOT of cat facts. But, if you're looking for causes to donate to, I highly recommend conservation efforts for cheetahs. They could really use it. 
> 
> Lastly, I'm Fairytrashmother on Tumblr too, if you wanna come talk to me about dumb animal facts.


End file.
